


you're green, and you're free

by suganii (feints)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Implied Iwahana - Hanamaki has a crush, M/M, Seijoh 4 Headcanons, Third Years as First Years, character exploration, i was going to keep this gen but the iwahana pull was Strong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28387716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feints/pseuds/suganii
Summary: The first thing Hanamaki’s unfortunate tongue opts to say after two very glorious minutes of Iwaizumi manhandling him—guiding his fingers toward the right positions, really, but who sweats the small details—is an utterly mortifying, “Damn, you have very strong arms, bro. Want to arm wrestle?”Hanamaki wants todie.A collection of Hanamaki Takahiro's firsts, in his time as a first-year of Seijoh's Volleyball Club.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro & Iwaizumi Hajime & Matsukawa Issei & Oikawa Tooru, Hanamaki Takahiro & Matsukawa Issei, Hanamaki Takahiro & Oikawa Tooru, Hanamaki Takahiro/Iwaizumi Hajime
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	you're green, and you're free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnimeGinaLinetti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnimeGinaLinetti/gifts).



> for sushi. merry belated christmas! this is for you, friend, self-claimed oikawa kin and biggest seijoh stan i know. this idea began with us talking about hanamaki, and now it's spiralled into... this! this fic has been the fruit of our many conversations, and i really hope you enjoy this small tribute to your favourite team in haikyuu! <3
> 
>  **note** : i headcanon that at seijoh, the third-years tend to retire after the summer interhigh. small thing, but yeah.

**i.**

The first time Hanamaki steps into Aoba Johsai’s third gymnasium, he’s in his house shirt and joggers, an application form for the club held snugly to his chest. While he’s here on a volleyball scholarship, the form is a formality he needs to fill out the particulars of regardless.

He glances around, taking a minute to soak in the atmosphere. The gym is spacious, wide enough to hold a secondary volleyball court, and the ceiling lights are brightly lit. There are even bleachers on the balcony where a small army of onlookers—mostly students, with a few adult faces in the mix—has gathered. He wonders what, or rather _who_ , exactly they might be looking for.

Possibly the small crowd in the centre of the court he’s closest to. A couple of boys are already doing stretches, and Hanamaki recognises more than one face—they’re rivals he used to compete against in Junior High, and likely competition for the starting spots now. He observes with interest as a lanky, curly-haired boy stands a little away from everyone else, simply taking everything in. He’s tall too. _A future teammate!_

He breathes in, and the air carries faint traces of Air Salonpas. It’s a comforting scent.

Hanamaki braces himself. It’s his first day as an official member of Seijoh’s volleyball club. Champions have been raised in these very walls, and Hanamaki very much intends to be one of them.

**ii.**

_“—during your time here, that hopes to instill in all of you a sense of teamwork and smarts. In volleyball, your brain is your most valuable weapon, just as much as your teammates are your most valuable allies. I look forward to seeing all of you grow. Now, captain, if you will.”_

The first time Hanamaki meets the coach, he’s standing in a line with a group of other fresh-eyed first-years, all of them ready to make their own introductions. Irihata-sensei doesn’t have the same intimidating aura or biting words that Togatta-sensei, his old coach, did. With that genial expression on his face, steady, collected, he looks less like a coach and more like a teacher.

Hanamaki kind of likes him already. First impressions can be deceiving though.

Hanamaki has his lines already fired up and ready to go in his head, so when it’s his turn to speak up, he doesn’t miss a beat. “Hanamaki Takahiro from Chidoriyama Junior High, my position is outside hitter. My idols are Godoy Filho and Lorenzo Bernardi! My favourite food is profiteroles. I love its sweet taste and the way it just melts inside—”

“—What are you doing, first-year?”

Hanamaki cocks his head. “Why, I’m telling you my favourite food, captain!”

“And you think we want to waste our time hearing that shit? Save that getting-to-know-each-other chitchat for later! Next!”

It does break the little bubble of silence that’s begun to surround everyone though as a few of the boys beside him snicker to themselves.

And then the next boy stepping forward shatters the atmosphere completely.

**iii.**

The first time Hanamaki hears Oikawa Tooru’s declaration, he is silent. So is most everyone else in the gymnasium. The boy, looking like a poster child for a kid star, tilts his head to the side to sweep away his bangs as he speaks, each word injected with confidence. “My name is Oikawa Tooru. I play setter, and my _idol_ is Jose Blanco. I’m from Kitagawa Daiichi, and my goal this year is to defeat Ushijima Wakatoshi and head to Nationals!”

It’s also incidentally the first time Hanamaki has felt the temperature dropping in the gymnasium by several hundred degrees. _Ushiwaka_ is serious business after all. He’s practically already become a household name in Miyagi, and rumour has it he’s been scouted for the U-19 team. Only fifteen, he’s already well on his way to becoming one of the best players in _all_ of Japan in the high school scene, even against the likes of Nishiura Keigo and others. Hanamaki’s arms ache already, remembering one too many painful encounters trying to receive his spikes.

He’s tasted nothing but defeat at _Ushiwaka’s_ hands. All of them here have.

The captain clears his throat. He and the coach exchange a glance before the captain cracks a small smile. “Big dreams huh, kid? Next!”

It’s not a clear dismissal however. And as one after another boy affirms their desire to make it to Nationals too, to Hanamaki’s surprise, Hanamaki thinks he might actually fit in with this team after all.

**iv.**

Hanamaki makes his first friend in a boy called Matsukawa Issei approximately five minutes into initiation, when he’s paired with the other boy for drills and realises simultaneously that one, he’s really bad at volleyball—a “no form to speak of, has no idea even where to place his hands” category of bad—and two, he’s really easy to talk to.

He’s already decided before coming to Aoba Johsai whose company he’s going to seek out. Having played in competitive volleyball since he was a child, he’s had too many encounters with the many assholes that roam the higher-level echelons of the sport. The more talented they are, the higher the chances of that player having a complex or an attitude problem. Most times, if Hanamaki is lucky, it’s both. Because he actually values enjoying his experience with the team over just winning—or he just could really use a friend—Hanamaki decides to hang around.

He learns the same day that the boy’s favourite colour is teal, one shade duller than the colour that stains their club’s jackets, and that it was the captain who had recruited him onto the volleyball team. He has two younger sisters by the names of Saya and Michiru, who are the lights of his life.

He also likes dad jokes. His voice is surprisingly deep for a fifteen-year-old but pleasing. He moves like he’s not quite used to having such long legs yet, all awkward and gangly. He needs to grow into his shoulders.

He’s good for Hanamaki’s first friend in the volleyball club. When Hanamaki cheerfully tells him this, he’s rewarded with a flush creeping up the other boy’s neck and a murmured, “Uh, yeah, same.”

Hanamaki laughs. His new friend is cute. He’s sure they’re going to get along just fine.

**v.**

Unfortunately, two boys do not a team make, not unless they’re ever engaged in 2v2 drills which, dear God, _please_ no. He and Matsukawa together would spell disaster with a capital D, especially because Hanamaki will be too busy grinning at Matsukawa’s awful jokes to really follow the ball, and Matsukawa’s volleyball skills are still fresh as a baby’s bottom—all fat and little hardness, not accustomed to the competition of it all.

A disaster, bona fide, guaranteed.

So three days later, when the captain calls all the first-years together to engage in a round robin series of three-on-three matches, Hanamaki finds himself a little stumped as to what to do. Since there are nine first-years, it should be easy to pair up.

The thing is, Hanamaki wants to win. No, actually, he kind of _needs_ the win. He wants to get onto the first-string after all.

He just needs to figure out how to convince the last leg of their currently lopsided triangle to join in. The boy in question is currently completing his last push up, balancing with one hand on a med ball, his sleeves pulled all the way up. From this distance, Hanamaki’s close enough to see the ripples on his arms as he moves.

The first time Hanamaki talks to his maybe-sorta-not really crush, it’s all he can do not to glance at the fine sheen of sweat glistening on the boy’s forearms. Needless to say, it doesn’t go all that well.

**vi.**

Iwaizumi Hajime appraises Hanamaki with a puzzled upturn of lips as he approaches. “Can I help you?”

He is a real looker of a guy. (He is also incredibly Hanamaki’s type, but that isn’t exactly relevant, or a good conversation starter. Hanamaki takes a moment to imagine a universe where it could be.)

He puts on his best smile. “Yeah, dude, just wondered if you were interested in joining my team? Oh,” he holds out a hand, “Hanamaki Takahiro by the way, at your pleasure.”

The other boy’s face melts into a genuine smile. “At your pleasure, huh? Well, I’m Iwaizumi, nice to meet you. Sorry, though, I’m already kind of… taken.”

Hanamaki’s already guessed, but disappointment lines the pit of his stomach anyway. “ _Oh_. Uh, no worries then.”

He jogs away, sighing. He knows it was a long shot to begin with—Iwaizumi’s just one of four others from Kitagawa Daiichi, and it’d make sense for him to stick with people he already knows. He and Oikawa Tooru are practically inseparable anyway—for as long as he’s witnessed them across the court, the two of them were partners.

In the end, he pairs up with Sawauchi, a middle blocker from Hisa Junior High, and they lose to the Oikawa-Iwaizumi-Yuda trio from Kitagawa Daiichi.

His first loss, even though it’s in a simple practice match setting, stings. Hanamaki keeps his face carefully blank as he shakes his teammates’ hands at the end of the match.

He knows he has no real reason to be frustrated. It’s just a drill. They lost because the _Kita Ichi_ team were better. But Hanamaki wants to be a player his team can rely on. The realisation that he’s far from where he wants to be leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

So of _course_ his team loses the next match too. The scores are far closer, which is good at least. Hanamaki takes a deep breath, rallies himself together, pastes on a smile and claps his teammates’ backs.

This is what it’s like to be in a powerhouse school. You have to keep up, or you’ll be left behind.

Hanamaki has no intention of biting the dust. He’ll cling on, with everything he can.

**vii.**

The plastic crinkles, falling silently to the floor as Hanamaki sheds the wrap with a grin. Around him, other boys are already shrugging on their jackets, and he holds his own out, tracing the twin lines of turquoise that branch out from the neck to the shoulders with an invisible finger, before turning the fabric to admire his school name, imprinted in the same bright shade, in slightly looping English on the back. It seems appropriately elegant, he thinks. White had been—still is—the colour of the gods.

“Aren’t you going to put it on?” the boy beside him asks, a thick brow quirked. Messy curls tumble down in waves over his eyes, and Hanamaki shoots him another grin.

“You know, you really should get that haircut. Might improve your vision on the court.”

“I think I’ll live,” Matsukawa shrugs. He blows a stray lock of hair out of his face, and Hanamaki holds back a snort. The other boy’ll learn eventually.

The first time he puts the team jacket on, it’s not a grand ceremony. When he gets home he’ll be showing it off to his sisters of course, but for now, he likes the warmth that settles over his skin. He feels battle-ready.

“How do I look?” he asks, pulling at the jacket slightly by the zippers. He whirls around for Matsukawa to see him, posing for his scrutiny.

“Like a million yen,” Matsukawa says dryly, but there are crinkles around his eyes.

**viii.**

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“The seniors want a match with us, and we need our best players.”

Oikawa shrugs, the gesture casual, an easy smile dancing on his lips.

Hanamaki doesn’t miss the hard glint in his eyes. He’s looking at Hanamaki like Hanamaki’s a particularly vexing math problem he needs to solve, and Hanamaki can’t say he’s not flattered. Oikawa is exactly the kind of player he would despise though. Hanamaki smirks.

“You do realise that this is our match to lose?”

Whatever had been on his mind vanishes, and Oikawa’s eyes clear. He waves a hand airily at him. “Ah, don’t you worry about that. You see, I have no intention of letting our senpai just take the win.”

_Oh, really?_

Hanamaki has had years’ worth of memories observing Oikawa on and off the court, but this might be the first time he’s witnessed the boy’s intensity up close and personal. He’s going to be on a team with this monster, probably for the rest of his high school career, so he’ll have to start their relationship right, right here.

Hanamaki draws his line in the sand, raising a hand in a mock salute. “Well, so long as we agree on that,” he drawls.

When the other boy arches an eyebrow, Hanamaki shrugs right back. He’s not stupid enough to waste this precious chance to get on court, even despite the odds.

This is the first time he’ll be able to show off his real abilities in a game, and he’s seen what Oikawa’s capable of. It’s a scary thing, but he’s going to have to trust him, at least for now.

The first time Hanamaki engages in conversation with Oikawa Tooru ends in a tentative truce. It won’t be the last.

**ix.**

The first time Hanamaki is surprised by his teammates begins like this: with a tap on the shoulder, and Iwaizumi running a hand through his own hair.

Hanamaki follows the movement with his eyes before remembering himself. “Hey,” he greets.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says. “Look, sorry about what happened yesterday.” He pauses, laughing self-deprecatingly. “I’ve, uh, just gotten used to working with _Shittykawa_ over there for too long.”

Hanamaki raises his eyebrow at the nickname, before shrugging his shoulders in commiseration. “It’s alright. You’re two peas in a pod. And we’re working together now, aren’t we?”

Iwaizumi knocks their shoulders together in a friendly manner. “We are.”

Just then, Oikawa gives him and Iwaizumi a rough tug, bundling their small group of six first-years together in a circle. “Okay, guys. Listen, we’re going to _own_ this game.”

“Geez, who went ahead and made you captain?” Sawauchi mutters.

Oikawa ignores him, sticking a hand out in the middle of their impromptu huddle. “Who’s with me?”

Looks are exchanged throughout the circle. Surprisingly, Matsukawa is the first to place his hand on top of Oikawa’s. The other boy’s eyes widen slightly when Matsukawa admits, “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, but I’ll try my best.”

_Well, if it’s going to be that way…_

Hanamaki grins at Matsukawa. “I think that’s all he needs,” he says, adding his support on top of theirs.

“You’re full of hot shit, Crappykawa,” Iwaizumi says, his words disconcertingly close to Hanamaki’s ear.

Hanamaki’s heart pounds. Iwaizumi’s palm is warm over Hanamaki’s own. “Let’s take them down.”

“Hell yeah!” Yuda cheers.

Everyone gazes at Sawauchi, the last to join their group, who hesitantly places his palm on top of all of theirs, rolling his eyes as he does. “I think all of you are nuts,” he says.

“Maybe,” Oikawa says. “But we’ll never know until we try, will we, Sawauchi-chan~?”

“Fight on 3,” Iwaizumi says. “1, 2, 3!”

“Fight!”

Their cry is emphatic, loud enough to snag the attention of their senpai on the other side of the net. Their captain makes a come-hither motion, some of their senpai calling jeers and _Bring it on, first-years!_ in response.

Hanamaki blinks. Just like that, he’s formed a team with boys he barely knows, up against seniors who have at least two years of accumulated volleyball experience on them.

The strength of their resolve surprises him. Hanamaki decides to let his preconceptions fall away. They’re not Chidoriyama or Kitagawa Daiichi here. They’re simply a team, and it’s freeing somehow.

**x.**

So the first time Hanamaki unleashes a roar on court, it’s not on the heels of a successful spike, tossed to perfection by Oikawa despite them not having played together before. (Somehow, Oikawa’s already figured out his preferred set—a little away from the net, close to the antenna so he can choose to tool off the block or hit a straight if he so chooses. Oikawa’s smile is full of teeth when Hanamaki remarks on the eerie feeling of having been perceived. Hanamaki calls him a beast, and Oikawa simply laughs, “I’m just doing my best, _Makki_.”)

It’s not because of Oikawa’s total count of three service aces in the match. It’s not because Yuda, a quiet, unassuming spiker who calls Iwaizumi _Hajime_ to Hanamaki’s awe, manages to dig a serve from Seijoh’s ace and best server for the first time.

No, the first time he raises his voice on court, it’s at the tail end of a long rally, when he’s scrambling to run back to the front line for a block. His team had barely managed to get the ball over the net; while most teams would have taken the opportunity to set up a strong attack with a chance ball, their rival setter seemed to want to capitalise the opportunity to score a quick with their defenses down and sets on the first touch.

Hanamaki already knows he’s not going to make it back there on time. The only one in any position to block the captain who’s already running up for the jump, is—

“Matsukawa!”

The cry rips itself from his throat. The next second, the captain is up at the net, the ball drawing close to his outstretched palm. Hanamaki’s heart sinks down his throat.

 _The captain’s going to score, they’re going to win the match, there’s just no_ way—

The sound of a ball blocked on hard palms is the sweetest sound Hanamaki’s ever heard. It ricochets through the gym, piercing in its clarity. Somehow, Matsukawa has jumped up in time, positioned his arms just right, and everyone watches as the ball flies back, straight down toward the ground. The opposing team’s libero leaps forward to catch it, his fist reaching toward the ball.

The whistle blows as the ball touches the ground, and another cry erupts from Hanamaki’s throat.

They’re not done yet. They still have a chance.

**xi.**

They lose in two straight sets. Surprisingly, it’s enough to break the ice that’s come with having only known these guys for four days—Hanamaki finds himself talking to Yuda with ease, complimenting him on his beautifully accurate tips and his positioning to receive the ace’s wicked serves. Sawauchi is joking freely with Matsukawa; Shido, the only first-year wing spiker who’d sat out the game, chimes in from time to time with well-placed quips. Oikawa and Iwaizumi are conversing with their upperclassmen, of course, not that Hanamaki expected anything less from them. Knowing the egocentric setter, he’d probably want to exchange game advice.

Determined not to be outdone, Hanamaki trots over to where the captain has wrapped an arm around Matsukawa, probably congratulating him for his one solid block. He has game advice to exchange too.

At some point after they’ve finished with their cooldown exercises and the first-years are tasked to keep the equipment, Iwaizumi bumps shoulders with Hanamaki in the storage room, tilting his head in a friendly nod.

“Good game.”

Hanamaki snorts. “Yeah, we did pretty well, I guess.”

“No, I mean it,” Iwaizumi says. “You covered all the open spots on court. You and Yudacchi pretty much saved our asses. It was really cool.”

“Ah, well in that case,” Hanamaki points a finger gun at him as casually as he can. “You’re welcome. Guess I just have a talent of knowing where to be.”

Iwaizumi laughs. The sound is rich and warm. Hanamaki might be a little bit starstruck. “I guess you do.”

“Hey hey hey, guys,” Oikawa slaps a friendly arm over both of their shoulders. “What do you say to getting Melon Pan at Family Mart later?”

“Depends. What’s the occasion? Are you treating?”

“—Of course I am, _Makkiii_ ,”—there Oikawa goes again with the familiar nickname. Hanamaki lets him get away with it for now—“what do you think of me?”

“—Don’t expect this guy to open up his wallet for you,” Iwaizumi interjects at the same time. The two friends stare at each other for a moment.

Oikawa’s face contorts in betrayal. “ _Iwa-chan_! I am, in fact, going to pay for all of us this time!”

Iwaizumi just raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.” Oikawa sticks out a tongue. “It’s the least I can do for my friends.”

His words strike a chord in Hanamaki’s chest. _Friends_ , huh? They worked together during the game, and this conversation has been pretty decent, but friends?

“I’d just go along with it.” Matsukawa has somehow materialised beside him, sliding him a crooked grin. Hanamaki must be more tired than he’d realised. “I don’t know about you, but I’m famished.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Hanamaki feels hungry enough to devour a whole chicken. Scratch that, a horse. Do they still raise horses for meat? “Actually, why don’t we just go for dinner?” he suggests.

“You don’t have to treat us,” he adds when Oikawa throws him a dirty look. “It’s just… I know a place nearby. And it’s just this once, right?”

For the first time since he’s joined the volleyball team, Hanamaki has actually felt that they are one. There, on the court, they’d combined all their skills together and had almost won a set from their senpai, all while following the unlikeliest of leaders, in service toward a shared goal.

He won’t know it yet, but it’s here where seeds of a newfound desire will begin to sprout, growing, growing, sinking its roots down deep. Hanamaki won’t put a name to it until much, much later, when it has wormed its way deep in the cavity of his chest, a wish, a challenge, a calling.

_He wants to go to Nationals, with this team._

**xii.**

It comes as an eventuality to Hanamaki, that of _course_ his first time cursing an establishment in front of his newfound companions would be over a Physics question. He, Matsukawa, Iwaizumi and Oikawa have managed to secure a table with cushioned seats by the cosiest corner of the McRonald’s they frequent, and being the responsible students they are, have chosen to spend their time catching up on their assignments.

Or rather, Hanamaki is. Oikawa is busy trying to snap a selfie of himself with their study group—to send to his _nephew_ , or so he claims. Hanamaki isn’t enirely convinced that Oikawa isn’t just using them as an excuse to spam his nephew with at least two dozen photos. Matsukawa, however, had been immediately intrigued by the mention, prompting a weird version of baby talk, with him and Oikawa swapping stories of things Matsukawa’s sisters and Oikawa’s nephew had done when they were younger. Iwaizumi, being an only child, can’t relate, and Hanamaki, lest he bring down the wrath of his own sisters upon him, opts out of the conversation as well.

It’s a decision he is at that very second, greatly reconsidering. Having Ru-nee or worse, Shinobu, murder him in his sleep would be preferrable to having to solve _anything_ with Fleming’s left-hand rule. Hanamaki is ready to tear his own hair out if his answer fails to match up with the one provided even _one_ more time.

Iwaizumi, who has been listening to Hanamaki groan quietly to himself for the past ten minutes, finally decides to take pity on him. “Need any help with that?”

Hanamaki could kiss Iwaizumi for the offer. “Iwaizumi, _pleaseeeee,_ ” he begs, pouting at him.

“Okay, first of all, don’t do that. One Oikawa is an Oikawa too many,” Iwaizumi shudders, to Hanamaki’s amusement and Oikawa’s pointed, “I _heard_ that, Iwa-chan! So mean!”

“I think you might be approaching this all wrong,” Iwaizumi continues.

That’s when he takes a hold of Hanamaki’s hand. Hanamaki’s brain short-circuits.

**xiii.**

The first thing Hanamaki’s unfortunate tongue opts to say after two very glorious minutes of Iwaizumi manhandling him—guiding his fingers toward the right positions, really, but who sweats the small details—is an utterly mortifying, “Damn, you have very strong arms, bro. Want to arm wrestle?”

Hanamaki wants to _die_.

**xiv.**

Despite his most fervent of wishes, the world keeps spinning. Day turns to night turns to day turns to night, and Hanamaki studies, does well enough on his tests save for Physics and Chemistry which continue to be the banes of his existence, and he practices. Keeps pace with Matsukawa in drills until Matsukawa slowly begins to keep up with _him_ , studies some more, and occasionally arm wrestles with Iwaizumi. (It’s become a thing. Hanamaki might or might not despair over it.)

Oh, and Hanamaki dreams of volleyball. He keeps that last part to himself though, not because he’s ashamed, but because he assumes no one will find that interesting.

You don’t just attend Seijoh to play. Anyone who wants to make it to the starting lineup must have dreamt of volleyball at least once or twice. In that regard, Hanamaki is no better than anyone else.

So it is with only a little bit of bitterness that Hanamaki looks at the roster for the first lineup of the tournament season, and does not find his name anywhere, not even on the bench.

No other first-year has made it, either. No one, that is, except for Oikawa. Hanamaki’s short nails leave tiny crescent-shaped indents on his palm as his eyes read the characters spelling the boy’s name, again and again. Remembering the shape of the shadow ahead of him whose back he has to touch.

“He may be the first of us to get a jersey,” Hanamaki murmurs, “but he won’t be the last. Just wait, we’ll be joining you soon.”

Beside him, Iwaizumi and Matsukawa hum in agreement. Hanamaki doesn’t feel quite so alone.

**xv.**

A month and a tournament later, Hanamaki spots him sitting by the stairs, a towel draped across his eyes. He’s bathed in orange from the setting sun, but somehow the air around him feels cold.

When he pads closer, he sees what he thought was a shadow by the wall arrange itself into a decidedly human silhouette. Iwaizumi meets his gaze across the tiled floor, his own expression a mask.

“Don’t,” he says quietly when Hanamaki has reached his shoulder. It stops him more effectively than a hand on the arm could’ve.

Hanamaki swallows. “Coach is looking for the two of you. The bus is going to leave any minute now.”

Iwaizumi acknowledges him with a noncommittal grunt.

“Is,” Hanamaki forces the question out, “Um, is he gonna be okay?”

Iwaizumi sighs. “Yeah. Just. Give us five minutes, alright?”

“Five minutes,” Hanamaki echoes.

It’s been their first loss at an official tournament. Their first loss against Ushijima Wakatoshi. The first time Hanamaki acknowledges that Oikawa has become a friend.

In years to come, Hanamaki will see Oikawa spitting curses, throwing insults, making little effort to hide his frustrations from them, those who share his pain. It will be the first and last time he ever sees the other boy defeated to the point of being rendered mute, his grief laid bare, but he will always remember the way it stank up his throat, fogging his own ability to form ultimately helpless words. He will always remember feeling uncertain and sad and young.

Champions. Once, Seijoh had raised champions.

For now, Hanamaki refuses to let the tears fall. He hasn’t earned them yet.

He hesitates, casting another fleeting look their way before leaving the two of them there—a boy on the stairs, shoulders slumped, haloed in the dying light, and his best friend who stands sentinel to his pain. Eventually, he is swallowed up and out of sight.

**xvi.**

The first time Hanamaki is invited over to Matsukawa’s house just so happens to be the day when a massive tropical storm hits Sendai. What was intended to be a simple visit morphs into an opportunity for a sleepover, to Hanamaki’s mingled embarrassment and delight. He really should’ve checked the weather report before he set out.

Matsukawa’s room is neatly furnished, the walls painted with a smoky indigo hue. There’s an instrument case propped up against one corner, a shiny velvet black housing what he assumes is a violin, and when Hanamaki looks under the bed, he can see one or two other smaller ones with metal casings just out of arm’s reach. Matsukawa _had_ mentioned being part of an orchestra before. Hanamaki didn’t know he still played though.

The volleyball sitting by Matsukawa’s study table is a more familiar sight. Hanamaki picks up the ball with ease, giving it a twirl as he recalls telling Matsukawa to familiarise himself with the volleyball’s particular feel months back, to make the ball feel like an extension of himself. He smiles as his fingers feel through the ridges, tiny grooves where the ball has become a little edged up, worn out from constant handling.

Looks like someone’s taken his advice after all. Out of all of them, Matsukawa had the furthest to go simply because of how new to the sport he was. Irihata-sensei and the previous captain had recruited him simply due to his height and his thinking skills, but _Matsukawa’s_ the one who’s been putting in all the hours. Honed himself into someone needed by the team.

There’s a knock on the door before Matsukawa pushes the door with an elbow, blowing his bangs out of his face as he does. “Lord Hanamaki, I bring oolong tea,” he announces.

“Perfect, my good servant,” Hanamaki claps his hands together. “You may place them here,” he adds, gesturing imperiously to Matsukawa’s study table.

“Just so, my lord,” Matsukawa bows, placing the tray on the table.

Hanamaki snorts. “We are so lame,” he laments.

“Good thing Oikawa and Iwaizumi aren’t here to witness this,” Matsukawa agrees.

“Small blessings.”

“Sorry, we only had oolong tea in the cupboard by the way,” Matsukawa tells him.

Hanamaki waves his apology away. “Well, you just so happen to be in luck, Mattsun! I happen to drink oolong tea on a semi-regular basis.”

“Really? Never would’ve guessed.”

There’s only one chair at Matsukawa’s desk, so Matsukawa settles on the edge of the bed, cradling a teacup in his hand as he does. “What do you want to work on first?” he asks, sipping on his tea slowly.

Hanamaki groans. He’s almost forgotten his original purpose for coming here in the first place, but as he and Matsukawa put their heads together over the latest 200-question math assignment—seriously, is Naruko-sensei a demon or something?—rain begins to fall steadily against Matsukawa’s windows, casting a dull gray pallour around the room that Hanamaki realises too late isn’t letting up.

Matsukawa-san kindly offers to set up a futon for him by Matsukawa’s bed, and after an eventful dinner that instills in Hanamaki a healthy respect for the goddesses, Matsukawa Saya and Michiru, Hanamaki sends Iwaizumi an email.

Or more accurately, he sends Iwaizumi a picture, captioned _mattsun and makki, two boys in a manly slumber party, for men! Wish you guys were here with us ^___^_

Too late, it dawns on him that he’s assumed Oikawa was with Iwaizumi at that moment. Before he can begin to apologise though, Iwaizumi’s already replied: _yudacchi and shittykawa are whining about it already. What’s the address to mattsun’s house again?_

Hanamaki snorts. _dude, hate to break it to you, but there’s a storm outside._

_:((_

_next time! we’ll rsvp_ ＼(☆^∀^☆)／

_looking forward to it :)_

Hanamaki smiles, before throwing his phone onto the bed like it might be a radioactive device. For him, it might very well be; Hanamaki can feel himself possibly having turned to goo. His face feels hot at the same time; maybe it’s possible that he was going to combust and then turn to goo? Or would he turn to goo and then combust? Or maybe…

“Makki?” Matsukawa emerges from the bathroom, still towelling his hair. “You okay? You look a little red.”

Hanamaki buries his face into the pillow Matsukawa-san had graciously provided for him. “’m fine,” he mumbles.

“If you’re sure,” Matsukawa says.

“Iwaizumi and Oikawa and Yuda say hi,” Hanamaki blurts out just as Matsukawa turns off the light switch, flooding the room with darkness.

He thinks he hears Matsukawa snort, before there’s a shuffle of covers. Hanamaki sighs, arranging the futon more comfortably around himself. Matsukawa is silent for a long while. The silence isn’t deafening though, isn’t oppressive.

Hanamaki looks up at the ceiling, and waits for his eyelids to droop. Just before he nods off completely, he thinks he hears Matsukawa say something.

“Tell them we say hi back.”

**xvii.**

Three days later, Hanamaki stares in disbelief at the sight of his name, listed under the first-string roster for the first time.

**xviii.**

Nothing actually changes that much now that he’s made it to the bench. Nothing much except for the number 11 jersey he now wears, which really makes all the difference.

The first time Hanamaki wears an honest-to-the-gods Aoba Johsai jersey is at a practice game with a local college nearby. He spends the entire time on the sidelines, but it doesn’t matter.

He’s _here_. He’s here beside Oikawa, who’s cheering with hands cupped around his mouth too. Hanamaki makes sure to keep his voice loud as he yells his senpai on, his eyes meeting Matsukawa’s and Iwaizumi’s briefly from the stands.

He throws the both of them a grin. It will be the four of them down here one day. He’s sure of it.

**xix.**

The definitely-not-first-but-possibly-last time Hanamaki has the time to regret all his decisions and/or contemplate his general existence, he’s sitting on the Oikawa family couch, Iwaizumi beside him. Matsukawa is muttering mutinously as he sits on a wooden stool in front of them, newspaper pages spread out at his feet. Oikawa is twirling a pair of shears in his hand.

“Ready, Mattsun?”

“As if I have a choice,” Matsukawa throws a murderous glare in Hanamaki’s direction for the umpteenth time, and Hanamaki shrugs.

They’d lost a pocky stick bet with Oikawa and Iwaizumi a few days back—of _course_ they did—and as forfeit, Matsukawa’s about to have a haircut.

At least it can grow back. Hanamaki’s up next, and he’s pretty sure eyebrows can’t.

He waves Iwaizumi’s concern off when the other boy makes to speak again. Hey, at the very least, it’ll be a good story to tell his future grandkids. _When I was sixteen…_

Matsukawa bites off a curse as the first strands of hair fall at his feet, bringing Hanamaki back to the present.

“You’re in good hands, Mattsun,” he calls.

Matsukawa responds by giving him the middle finger, and Hanamaki laughs, setting his hand down… right on top of Iwaizumi’s own.

“Whoa, sorry dude,” Hanamaki says, removing his hand as quickly and as casually as possible. Cool, suave, that’s what he needs to be.

 _It’s okay_. _It’s okay, it’s_ okay _._

Hanamaki prays that he will survive the encounter. Especially since it’s Iwaizumi who’ll have to pluck off his eyebrows, his hands on Hanamaki’s face—

Yeah, Hanamaki’s death is imminent. At least, he thinks, also not for the first time, it wouldn’t be so bad a way to go.

**xx.**

“You can afford to slack off a little, you know.”

Hanamaki pauses briefly, before tugging on the jersey all the way over his head. He smooths down the fabric with two fingers before throwing his new vice-captain a look.

His senpai shrugs. “Hey, I’m just saying. You already made it onto the first-string. Practicing with that middle blocker noob and _Iwa-chan~_ won’t exactly get you anywhere anyway.”

Hanamaki’s jaw clenches, but he forces himself to relax. Drop his shoulders, turn, smirk.

“I would be more careful of those players you look down on, Tono-san,” Hanamaki says. “If you’re not looking, they might just steal that starting spot off of you.”

His burly vice-captain guffaws. “‘s that supposed to be a threat?”

“Tono-san.” The door slams open, revealing Oikawa whose hand is by the door, a pleasant expression on his lips. “Mizoguchi-san is looking for you.”

“Alright, I’m coming.” Tono shakes his head as he passes Hanamaki by, but Hanamaki doesn’t bother to dignify his senpai with even a glance.

“Oh, by the way,” Oikawa says in a sing-song voice, his back also turned away from Tono just as he reaches the door, “Makki, did you know? Iwa-chan got promoted to first-string this morning. Wonderful, right?”

Tono stops. His back stiffens. In the end though, he says nothing, exiting the locker room quietly.

Hanamaki immediately beckons Oikawa over. “Did he really?” He can hardly believe his ears.

“Nope~!”

“What?” Hanamaki’s eyes widen at Oikawa’s audacity. “Why did you say that then?”

“Tono-san was being a bully. He knows Iwa-chan is competition for him, so he’s done everything in his power to make sure Iwa-chan doesn’t advance.” Hanamaki feels slightly stung when he realises he isn’t part of the equation. _He’s_ technically Tono-san’s rival too. Oikawa continues though, “I wanted him to experience the feeling of getting his own feet swept out from under him. Besides, even if it isn’t today, I know Iwa-chan’s getting a jersey soon. He practically carried the B-team in their practice match last Saturday.”

He really did. Hanamaki frowns. “What you say will come back to bite you in the ass, you know.”

Oikawa chortles, lifting a palm up carelessly as he does. “It doesn’t matter. It might not even be a lie anyway. Besides,” his eyes gleam as they meet Hanamaki’s own, “what kind of friend would I be if I just let Tono-san trash talk all over you?”

Hanamaki quirks an eyebrow. His chest feels so light. “Is it Christmas today? Because I could’ve just sworn you were being nice to me.”

Oikawa pouts. “Makki! That’s mean!”

Hanamaki laughs, the sound wild and carefree.

Oikawa’s right. The reason why he and Hanamaki practice aren’t just so they can win. It’s so they can win as a _team_.

For the first time, Hanamaki makes a promise to himself. He’s going to aim for vice-captain, support Oikawa, and get to Nationals. And prove that pompous ass Tono-san wrong.

By the door, Iwaizumi and Matsukawa poke their heads in. “Hey, we’ve been looking all over for the two of you. Ready to crush Ougishou High?”

The four of them exit the locker room together, their steps in tandem, the sun a backdrop behind them.

“Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> ~~next up: the Seijoh 4 explore the Aoba Castle Ruins that were the namesake for their high school. shenanigans and ghosts occur.~~
> 
> matsukawa's siblings are courtesy of sushi's headcanons, as is the fact that he used to play orchestra in middle school.
> 
> [one oikawa is one oikawa too many](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9243764) cribbed from this lovely fic. go read it if you haven't!


End file.
